


Sweetpeas

by teamfreeawesome



Series: a multitude of lifetimes [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, College, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Requited Love, Slice of Life, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is snow, friendship and complicated feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This series follows Finn and Colby's lives together in a non-linear fashion. This particular story follows Winter Whisky chronologically, and won't make much sense without reading that first.
> 
> This is set in England, which is where I am from, but the _snow is a lie_. A lie. We don’t get snow like this that lasts longer than a week, unless you’re quite far north. So. I’m calling this a story-book version of England because _atmosphere_.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3

England sits under snow in a way it hasn’t done for years. The campus lies under a layer of it, muffled as soft flakes drift down past the streetlamps. Behind the sprawl of grey architecture, the sun sinks low in the sky, pulling with it a dusky purple light that stains the snow like a bruise. Eyes prickly with lack of sleep, Colby steps out into the cold, breath instantly misting into a cloud. Blowing softly, he watches as it hangs, smoky, in front of him. Smiling, he waves a hand through the swirling mist of it, before shivering, cold running down the back of his spine as the air hits his exposed skin. He pulls his coat tight around himself, the soft wool of it not doing much to stop the chill, and sighs. The university buildings look stark against the snow, ugly brick looming over the wide stretch of campus, the edges of them only softened by the snow lying heavy across the windowsills.

Tapping his boot against the wall behind him, Colby shakes off a clod of snow, before shuddering and shoving his hands tight inside his coat pockets. There’s barely a wind at all, but the chill sits sharply in the air, scraping across the exposed skin of Colby’s nose. He knows it’ll be scrubbed raw by the time he gets home; flushed pink for days. Despite being buried under layers, his scarf soft as he tucks his face into it, he’s frozen. Inside his pockets, his fingers feel numb. Flexing them, skin tight as they sit almost bare against his belly, he makes his way down to the path.

He treads slowly, the salted pathway still slippery beneath his feet. England has never been equipped to deal with snow, the world grinding to a halt for days and days, until the snow melts into slush and rain washes the last traces of it away.

All across campus, lights are switching on, glowing softly as Colby walks past. In the growing dark, the brick looks steadily more inviting, warmth spilling out through doorways as students tumble out into the cold. Shoulders hunching, Colby glances through a window, catching sight of a lecture. The professor is gesturing wildly at his whiteboard, but Colby’s gaze is caught on a boy near the back, asleep against his friend’s shoulder. Next to him, a girl is texting, mouth tipped upwards in a smile.

Lives twist onwards around Colby, the Earth moving beneath his feet, and it’s on days like this he feels small. Small, but warm and jumbled together with the other sparks of humanity that wander the snow, bright and full of laughter.

Ahead of him, the bus stop sits, metal clear against the drifts collected around it. Colby sighs softly, thoughts of hot chocolate and warm food hovering hopefully in his head. The bright LED sign tells him he’s got ten minutes before the bus arrives, and his eyes flutter shut as he whines softly in the back of his throat. His feet are numb from the cold, toes frozen at the end of his boots, and his bones are beginning to ache with the cold.

Stomping his feet, he huffs and steps backwards, letting out a soft squeak when he hits something solid with his boot. Hands flying up, he goes sprawling, mouth open with shock as he gets a face full of snow. The landing is soft, but he still feels winded with surprise, blinking and gasping as he shakes the snow from his face. His gloves are covered in it, and he can feel something cold and wet leaking in through the material already. Behind him, someone groans. Twisting quickly, Colby moves towards the source of the sound, mouth dropping open when he spots Finn.

Fluttering his hands ineffectually, Colby watches as Finn pokes at his side with a pained expression, before looking up to meet Colby’s gaze. Flushing pink, mortification sitting heavy in his veins, Colby ducks his head, looking down at the darkening material of his jeans as snow soaks into them.

“Fuck,” he says, peeking up at Finn through his lashes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I – are you okay?”

Teeth flashing as he grins, Finn sits up, his hat still lying, forlorn, in the snow behind him. His hair is dusted with snow, ears pink and cheeks flushed, freckles standing clear against his skin.

“Absolutely fine,” Finn says, head ducking curiously as he tries to meet Colby’s eyes. “A tad bruised perhaps, but no harm done. It’s not every day that a snow angel adventure gets interrupted by cute boys. Very cute boys, with very cute pink noses.”

Blushing brighter, skin burning, Colby bites at his lip. His cheeks feel hot and raw, blood rushing in his ears as he looks up, eyes meeting Finn’s. They’re dark, pupils wide and interested as they skim across Colby’s skin. Shoving his hands under his armpits, mouth quirking hopefully at the corners, Colby coughs.

“Do you – I mean. I hope I haven’t hurt you too badly?” He asks tentatively, embarrassment prickling at the back of his neck.

Finn laughs, bright and clean as it cuts through the air, before shaking his head and feeling around for his hat. Tugging it onto his head, hands fumbling the way that cold digits do, he smiles out at Colby from under the brim of his hat. It has little ear flaps, the checked material on the outside giving way to soft fluff on the inside, Finn’s hair peeking out from underneath.

“I’m fine,” Finn assures him. “Though,” he says, pausing to wink exaggeratedly at Colby. “Perhaps you’d like to take me out for a coffee. You know, to make up for it.”

Sitting back on his heels nervously, Colby cocks his head. Finn seems nice, face scrunched up and adorable as he waits for an answer. There’s a sincerity there, under the skin, and Colby _likes_ him.

“Um,” he starts, heart thumping loudly in his ears. “I – maybe not now,” he says, gesturing at his damp trousers. “But later in the week?”

Getting to his feet, Finn offers a hand to Colby. Tugging gently, he pulls Colby to his feet, grinning as Colby stumbles slightly, falling into Finn’s chest. He’s warm against Colby, heat emanating from him, and Colby wants to snuggle closer and hum. Instead, he flushes and steps back, nervously picking at the seam of his jeans.

“Sounds good to me,” Finn says, reaching out to tug Colby’s hat further down his head. “Put your number in here,” he continues, digging out his phone, “and we’ll arrange a date.”

Colby fumbles for his own phone, blushing furiously when Finn looks at him curiously.

“I don’t – well, I don’t actually know my number by heart.” He murmurs, painstakingly copying his number over to Finn’s mobile.

“So cute,” Finn says, looking inordinately pleased when Colby hands him his phone back. “Totally adorable. I am absolutely keeping you,” he continues, looking down at the entry in his phone. “Colby. A cute name for a cutie.” He winks again, pocketing his phone. “I’ll text you when I get home and then you can put me in your phonebook too. It’ll give me something to look forward too, once I’ve got through all the ethics paperwork for this thing. The research thing.” He huffs, mouth pinching in for a second, before smiling again. “I’m Finn, if you don’t remember.”

Shaking his head and rubbing at his cheek with a damp glove, Colby blushes again.

“I remember,” he says softly, skin hot with embarrassment. “I, um, enjoyed the rock talk. A lot. I have – I have to go, because my bus will be here soon. But, um. I’ll see you?”

Reaching out, eyes bright, Finn brushes a cold thumb across Colby’s cheek.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m already looking forward to it,” he assures, before scuffing at the edge of his mangled snow angel. “So worth it.”

Grinning, he waves awkwardly, before heading off in the opposite direction, slipping slightly as he steps on to the path. Flushed, Colby watches him go, before turning and heading towards the bus stop, phone clutched happily in one hand.


	2. Chapter 1

Colby likes snow at night; likes the way streetlamps illuminate soft flurries of it as it falls, sky dark behind the glow. Drifts of it lie, soft, over the ground, and the air tastes quiet. Flakes swirl slowly, settling against tarmac and old snow, and Colby watches silently as the world is muffled. Standing in his doorway, mug clutched tight and warm in his hand, Colby tracks the snowfall with wistful eyes.

It’s late, past nine, and the street feels sleepy. At his back, the house is loud, spilling laughter and warm light out into the road. Colby smiles, head tipped back as the sky flakes down, and lets the glow of it wash over him. The night is brisk, wind slow but icy as it brushes against his cheeks, scrubbing with frost-covered fingers until his skin flushes pink. His breath hangs like mist in the air as he breathes, and it looks pretty, glistening almost, in the dim light. The _world_ is pretty, and Colby wants to sink into it; wants to lie in a blanket of winter and breathe there, slow and easy.

He’s not dressed for the weather, really. His pyjama bottoms are thin, cotton and flimsy against the chill, and he shivers. His nose feels pink, bruised from the cold, and his toes peek from the holes at the tip of his socks. They’re numb, flushed a bright red colour, and Colby knows that he should go back in soon. There’s something about the air, though, out here. It feels clear; sharp against his skin, lungs burning as he breathes – and Colby thinks that winter’s greatest achievement is its way of reminding humanity that it’s still alive.

Over the road, a door opens to the sound of laughter as people and light spill out into the driveway. They’re students, wrapped up in scarves and coats and hats, and they look happy. Giggling, they stumble down the road, and Colby can almost see the haze of alcohol, swimming warm around their heads. Smiling softly, Colby watches as they disappear into the distance, just the echo of their laughter left behind. Settling like snowflakes, quiet falls over the street again, and with one last look at the slow falling snow, Colby turns back to the warmth of his house. Shutting the door softly behind him, he lets his head fall back against the wood. Eyes fluttering shut, he breathes deep, the scent of cinnamon threading through the hallway. It’s nice. Heat flushes strong, warming his bones, and laughter trickles under his skin as the kitchen door opens with a click.

“There you are,” he hears, soft and happy, and his eyes flutter open to the sight of Holly, pink-cheeked and smiling.

Her hair is wet, shoulder length and dirty-blonde, and it’s dripping, water darkening the shoulders of her top as it falls. Holding up a steaming mug, chipped along the rim, she jerks her head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Come and join us. We found Baileys in the cupboard, so we’re doing hot-chocolate, alcohol and card games.” She says, before blowing gently into her mug. “Nick’s making it with actual milk and everything.”

“That sounds really nice,” he says, straightening up with a smile. “Are we all in tonight?”

Snorting, Holly tugs him gently towards the kitchen with her free hand, talking over her shoulder as she goes.

“Not quite. We’re missing Sam; he’s got a study session. I’m not sure how much actual studying that’s going to involve, though. You know Sam. The rest of us are having a night in. Tally says she’s calling clubbing quits until she’s not in danger of losing her extremities to the cold,” she says, voice growing louder as she steps into the kitchen. “Right, Tal?”

Tally grins up at them from her place at the kitchen table. Spread across the table, Tally’s fingers twiddling with them, are a jumbled mass of playing cards, mixed up with orange peel and discarded peanuts. It’s a typical Tally mess, and Colby sighs softly in her direction. Laughing, she flicks a peanut at him and winks, before sticking her tongue out, a glint in her eye.

“The snow can fuck off, yeah,” she snorts. “I swear I nearly lost a nipple to frostbite the other day.” Turning in her chair, she throws a card at the figure standing in front of the stove, laughing when it bounces off the back of his head ineffectually. “Oi, Nick, make us another. Colby’s here now.”

Making a disgruntled noise, Nick flips her the finger over his shoulder, but dutifully pours more milk into the pan. Colby knows they didn’t have any left in the fridge, so he must have picked some up on the way. Smiling at the back of Nick’s head, he slides into the chair opposite Tally’s and sinks into the soft warmth of the kitchen. With one slippered foot, Tally kicks affectionately at Colby’s calf, before clearing some space amongst the peanuts to rest her head. Hair red against the wood, she makes a grumbly noise and shuts her eyes.

Shaking her head at Tally, Holly squeezes between the back of her chair and Nick to get to the mugs.

“What’re you doing here, anyway?” She asks, tapping Nick gently on the hip as she passes. “I thought Sam was ignoring you this week?”

Shoulders hunching inwards, Nick turns the heat up on the milk, before shifting until he can lean back against the counter next to the stove. His cheeks are flushed, pink from something like embarrassment, and Colby’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming.

“He is,” Nick confirms, pulling nervously at his sleeves. “But he also needs help with his stats work, so I said I’d come by. He didn’t tell me he was going to be out; asked me to bring milk, even. I – can I crash on the sofa?”

Sighing softly, Holly squeezes his arm, before setting another mug down on the counter. Meeting Nick’s eyes, Colby sends an apologetic grimace in his direction, before startling when Tally sits up and cackles.

“Ha,” she states, eyes gleaming. “Fuck that, Nicholas. Sleep in his bed. It’s the least he can do. He’s such a fucking shit. We’ll leave a blanket out for him when he gets back, and he can have the couch. Hey, Hols?” She says, turning in her chair and scraping her hair up into a ponytail, fingers untangling the strands as she talks.

“Did you know that Phil – you know Phil, the one on Sam’s course who looks like an estate agent,” she continues, snapping her hairband into place. “Yeah, well, he saw me in the coffee shop the other day, and started telling me that I was super lucky to share a house with Sam, because he’s so _sweet_ and _conscientious_ , and I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my life. I might have spilt my coffee on his sweater. It was worth it.”

Sighing, Colby picks at the sleeve of his jumper, the wool frayed at the edges. He loves Sam; he’s known him for years, ever since they were little and snuck away from their parents to eat raspberries under the table, laughing as their fingers and mouths were stained pink. It’s true, though, that Sam’s being a dick about Nick.

“ _Sam_?” Holly asks, voice incredulous around her laughter. “Sweet? He’s only ever sweet to Col -” She stops herself, flicking a guilty glance at Nick.

Picking at the chipped edge of the table top, Colby’s cheeks burn. His relationship with Sam is complicated, made only more confusing by the presence of Nick, who Sam seems to change his mind about daily. There’s a lack of definition, when it comes to the way Sam and Colby interact, and it only serves to make things far more ambiguous than they need to be. Colby can’t see either of them pushing to change their dynamic, though. There’s something safe about loving someone like they do. Unthreatening.

Looking up at Nick, Colby watches as he huffs out a laugh as Tally pokes him in the belly.

“I’m sure Nick could disabuse him of that notion,” she says, stretching in her chair to pull him closer by his sweater hem. “C’mere, you. You’re pretty awesome. I’m sorry Sam is such a dick.”

Leaning into her embrace, Nick sighs, mouth crumpling at the corners. Reaching across the table, skin soft against his palm, Colby tangles his fingers with Nick’s and squeezes. He loves Sam; he’s one of Colby’s best friends, and generous when he wants to be, but he’s as oblivious as they come. He’s kind, Phil’s right, but not –

Not to Nick, really.

Sam knows a lot about loyalty, but Colby can see that there’s something painful and fickle about his relationship with Nick. Some days, it almost looks like Sam could kiss Nick, words soft as they sit pressed against each other. Most days, though, it looks like it hurts to see Nick, Sam’s face crumpling as his fingers curl inwards. Colby thinks it’s like Sam’s been punched in the stomach, breath shoved from his lungs as his face pales – and Colby can see something sitting, low and aching, in Sam’s belly for hours afterwards.

The thing is, Sam life has been entwined with Colby’s for so long, sometimes it feels impossible to even think about separating the threads. There’s a level of possession there, on both of their parts that leaves other relationships sitting, lonely, out in the cold. It’s not an excuse – or at least, it shouldn’t be. Colby can acknowledge that they treat it like it is, anyway.

Sam _cares_ , though. The way he looks at Nick, like his heart is breaking, slowly and desperately – it’s not about a lack of compassion. It’s about the way Colby and Sam occupy each other’s hearts, complicated and painful and –

Forever.

Colby watches Nick, too, and his own heart aches. Sam has missed every signal that Nick has ever given; missed every plea that he’s ever voiced and every smile that sinks deep into his cheeks when Sam touches him. Either that, or he hasn’t missed anything at all.

Colby doesn’t like to think about that option, because really – well, then this thing that they never voice would be _true_.

Sighing, Nick squeezes Colby’s hand gently, expression rueful. Smiling once at Tally, he pulls away and turns back to the stove. From behind, there’s something resigned about the set of his shoulders, the back of his neck slightly pink as he pokes at the milk. Letting out a soft, shocked noise, he hurriedly pulls the saucepan away from the hob.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, fumbling to switch the burner off. “Um,” he starts, half-turning to face the room again. “I think I’ve burnt the milk. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Oh my god,” Holly says, laughing. “I did that once in halls. It set the fire alarm off and I was on everyone’s shit lists for weeks because it was, like, three in the morning. What can I say, post-clubbing hot chocolate is a must.”

Coming to stand beside Nick, she peers into the pan.

“Yep,” she grins. “You really got it good. Guys, come and look at this. It’s almost fused with the pan.”

Approaching the stove cautiously, Colby coughs as smoke, acrid in his mouth, catches at the back of his throat. Peering into the pan dubiously, Colby snorts, head almost colliding with Tally’s as she looks over his shoulder. The sides of the saucepan look charred, the milk itself reduced and covered in skin as it sits, bubbling slightly. Turning his head to cough into his elbow, eyes watering slightly, Colby makes an impressed noise.

“That’s – wow,” he says, bumping Nick’s shoulder companionably. “Maybe run it under water for a bit and leave it to soak. That’s the kind of culinary disaster that needs a couple of weeks to scour itself off the sides. I’m alright without hot chocolate anyway. I should probably go to bed soon.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick murmurs, voice cracking slightly. “I should have just gone home when I realised Sam wasn’t going to turn up. Fuck, now I’ve ruined a saucepan. God, today has been shit.”

Heart aching, Colby presses a soft kiss to Nick’s cheek, hands coming up to cradle his face in his palms.

“Nick, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s replaceable. And we like having you here. Sam hasn’t told us we have to like you. We enjoy spending time with you.”

“Yep,” Holly agrees, coming up behind them all to wrap her arms around the huddle of people. “You’re rather cute, Nicholas. We’ve decided to keep you. There’s no escaping our clutches now. Right, Tal?”

Tally hums softly against Nick’s back, a soft sound of agreement as her hands come up to cuddle him from behind. Smiling, Nick leans into the embrace, Colby’s head coming down to rest on his shoulder. It’s nice, here, with the warm press of his flatmates against his body and Nick’s soft breath ruffling his hair. It’s days like this that make the other days worth it; the days that hurt.

“Colby?” Nick asks, his voice almost as whisper.

Colby hums softly, pulling back until he can see Nick’s face. It’s pinched, forehead creased in worried lines, and Colby wants to smooth them out.

“Does Sam talk about me? When I’m not here?”

Colby’s heart clenches, tight; sympathetic and painful. Nick looks hopeful, eyes sitting so big in his face and nose aquiline and set slightly to the left – and Colby wishes, desperately, that he could make Sam love Nick the way he deserves. Wishes that he could detangle himself from Sam, too. Wishes he could offer something other than words.

“Yeah,” he says, soft and cautious. “He talks about you a lot.”

It’s _true_ , too. Sam loves Nick with something fierce and unnameable, even if sometimes the words don’t sit comfortably in his mouth. Behind them, Holly sighs softly and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of Nick’s ear.

“He loves you,” she agrees. “He’s just fucking terrible at showing it. He talks about you all the time, you know. About how great you are. I’m sorry that he doesn’t tell you that himself; you deserve to hear it, honey. God, fuck this.” Pulling away, Holly ruffles Nick’s hair affectionately. “Someone crack out the vodka. Nicholas, you are making me _sad_.”

Stepping away from the huddle, Holly’s mouth softens.

“Sweetie,” she says, mouth wobbling at the corners. “Fuck.”

Turning her back on them all, she goes to rummage in the cupboards under the sink, bottles clinking as Nick sags against Tally, Colby’s hands stroking gently against his cable-knitted side. Breathing out, face pressed against Nick’s back, Tally whistles lowly.

“Nick,” she says, stepping back and coaxing him round until he’s facing her. “C’mere, you two,” she continues, sleepy-eyed and fierce as she beckons to Colby too. “That’s right. It’s Tally cuddling time. Also vodka time, but you know. Cuddles and vodka go well together, as we have gathered from experience.”

She shrugs and smiles.

“You’re going to drink away your woes, babe, and then fall asleep in Sam’s bed. Maybe then he’ll realise what he should have years ago. Jesus, get us a fucking _mug_ of that shit, Hols. We’re getting trashed,” she says, before petting Colby’s cheek softly and pushing him gently towards the door. “We’ll try to keep it down, Colbs. I know this isn’t your thing.”

“Thanks, Tal,” Colby says, rubbing at his eyes as they sit, itchy, in their sockets. “I’m going to head up to bed, then, I reckon. I’ll see you – well, I’m back about two, but you’ve got an evening lecture, right?”

Nodding, Tally tucks her chin over Nick’s shoulder and pulls him into a tighter embrace.

“Yeah,” she says. “I finish at five, and Hols is back about four, I think. Holly?” She asks, pulling away from Nick slightly as she turns towards the sink. “Your stats course finishes at three tomorrow, right?”

Snorting, Holly straightens, a bottle of wine in one hand.

“It’s that stupid fucking workshop shit tomorrow, so I don’t finish until six. Uni can suck my dick, I swear. The vodka is bloody hiding, hon. I swear we didn’t open it. Did we drink it and forget?”

“It’s right at the back,” Tally says, pulling Nick towards the kitchen table. “We hid it because of exams and actually wanting to pass. I think. It didn’t help; I got through a shit-load of tequila that week. But maybe we can have a flat dinner, when you get back? If we’ve cooked already, maybe. Sam’s going to be here too, unless he decides to randomly get with someone for a not-study session again. You gonna be here, Nick?”

Shaking his head, Nick sags against Tally’s side.

“No. Um, my parents want me to come down and see them this weekend, so I thought I’d leave as soon as my lectures finish. You know, get the train before Friday rush hour. I hate people, fuck,” he says, pressing his face into Tally’s neck. “It’s not like shoving me is going to get you there quicker.”

Carding her fingers through Nick’s hair gently, Tally makes a sound of agreement, and Nick snuffles quietly before sitting up again.

“I told Sam, but he’s probably forgotten. I – um, I invited him back with me, because he said he wanted to meet my mum? It was those cakes that time – the ones with butterflies and buttercream? But he said maybe next time, so.” He says, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand. “On my own this time, I guess.”

With a click of her tongue, Tally pulls him even tighter to her side.

“We’ll see you next week, then.” Colby interjects quietly, chest aching with guilt. “Holly wants to make a citrus syrup cake, so we’ll need your expertise for that.”

Coming over to the table, vodka clasped victoriously in one hand, Holly presses a kiss to Colby’s cheek.

“Sleep well,” she says softly, before turning to Nick. “Yes, exactly. You _know_ I’ll forget to put flour in or something. Do you remember the Yorkshire pudding I made that time? It was basically cooked egg.” She shudders. “Sam insisted on trying it, though. Eugh. Who wants some of this, anyway?” She asks, waving the vodka bottle enticingly. “Do we need a mixer, or are we drinking it straight?”

Colby takes that as his cue to leave, laughing softly as Holly fills Tally’s mug with an optimistic splash. He looks over his shoulder as he gets to the kitchen door, heart warmed by the sight of them, pink-cheeked and laughing. With a soft pat to the door frame, he heads towards the stairs.

He’s tired and flagging slightly. The house is warm as he climbs the stairs, radiators humming gently as the snow falls softly outside. Pausing for a second on the top step, Colby peers out the window into the street. The soft, orange glow of streetlamps against snow feels cosy, warm in Colby’s bones - and he feels happy.

It doesn’t take him long to shuck his jeans, brushing his teeth quickly and filling a glass of water before falling into bed with a contented sigh. As he settles, covers pulled over his shoulders, Colby watches the snow fall outside. His curtains hang open, falling flakes stark against the dark of the sky - and he falls asleep to the sound of laughter and the soft pat of snow collecting on his sill.

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depression.

Colby wakes to the quiet patter of sleet against his window, the wet splash of it smearing across the pane. It’s cold in his room, his nose numb even as his toes twitch, warm under the covers. Blinking, Colby watches as the wind pushes the mess of sleet into the glass, limbs and mouth and skin heavy. Even the flicker of his lashes, soft against his cheeks, feels so full of effort he almost can’t breathe. Chest heaving, teeth softened and furred in his mouth, Colby’s body feels scraped raw.

It’s a bad day; one that aches, deep in his chest. His skin feels sharp across his bones, needling the cartilage every time he shifts. Every inhale burns, air harsh and acidic as it slides down into his lungs, and it’s all Colby can do to breathe through the nothingness. He’s hollow and the world is blank – and he feels like he’s breaking under the weight of existence. He’s carried this weight a long time, but his shoulders have forgotten how to hold it. His bones snap beneath it, a crack that echoes out across the void, and Colby’s heart beats to the sound of his pain.

With the curtains open, grey light filters in, and Colby feels drenched in apathy. Grey fits, because Colby’s skin is grey and his body is grey and the sky is grey. He is grey and his tears are grey, dribbling, unbidden, from the corners of his eyes. Leaking out, they roll across the bridge of his nose and beyond until they’re trembling at the crack of his mouth, salty and painful. Next to him, his clock ticks steadily, the second hand sliding slowly past each marker with a click. Colby’s fingers twitch with each beat, and he breathes out into the stretch of nothing as time slows.

Eleven passes, and Colby’s hands clutch at his sheet, body shaking as the quiet of the room presses heavy against his skin. His ears ache with the pressure, nose numb as the cold skims across the flesh of it. As the second hand slides past the six, his clock ticks twice, a warning, before his alarm sounds. It’s shrill, a rolling bell sound that invades every inch of the room, and Colby sighs. Wet around the eyes, Colby lies still and listens to it ring. Listens and listens and listens until it chokes, shuddering to a stop as time moves on.

Fingers uncurling, Colby breathes, and the air settles, stale, in his lungs. His skin and body and heart hurt, but there isn’t a salve for a bruise like this. No cream for a soul-bruise, a heart-bruise. For an existence bruise. Colby is a length of burst blood vessel, and there’s nothing he can do but ride out the pain. Wait it out until he can move again.

He’s not okay.

 

//

 

Colby stumbles down to the kitchen at quarter past five, sleep-rumpled and flushed, a pink line etched into his cheek from the crease of his pillow. His pyjamas feel rough against his skin, warm flannel trousers grazing the tops of his toes as he blinks at the kettle blearily. Fumbling with the switch, he sets it boiling, the soft blue glow from the power button stretching faintly across the dark of the kitchen.

The counter is cool against his hip, but Colby feels wrapped in cotton-wool, muffled and removed from the world. He blinks slowly as the water bubbles, jumping up past the line it had been filled to, and breathes. Curling under his bones, sleep twists itself into his bloodstream, and Colby feels lost. The room feels too big, stretching out, wide and empty. The walls seem to move, sliding outwards until Colby is left adrift, a small island of himself amongst the shadows. His body feels odd, not quite connected to himself, like his skin is sliding away. It peels, and Colby doesn’t fit beneath it; it isn’t his anymore.

He startles at a soft sound, a small snort from the corner of the room. Turning, heart pounding, Colby spots a soft tuft of hair peeking out from a bundle of blankets on an armchair. Spilling out over the edges of the chair, the blankets rise and fall slowly as Colby watches. With a quiet snuffle, Sam’s face appears, blinking and mouth stretching wide when he spots Colby at the counter.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough and sleepy. “Is Nick still here?”

He’s squinting, hair falling in his face as he sits up. Wrinkling his nose, he tucks his blankets tighter around himself.

“No,” Colby says, voice rusty with disuse. “He left this morning, I think. When did you get in?”

Clicking, the kettle finishes boiling, and Colby sighs. Pulling a mug from the cupboard above the counter, he fumbles with a teabag, before dropping it in. Behind him, Sam coughs pointedly, rumbly and loud, and Colby pulls another mug down. Pouring the tea, bags slowly infusing into the water, Colby looks over his shoulder at Sam.

“Sammy,” he says, pushing. “When did you get in?”

Blushing, Sam avoids his gaze, pink spreading down his neck and across the tips of his ears. Shaking his head, cheeks splotchy, he coughs. Pulling his hands from his blanket, he makes a grabby motion at Colby, eyes wide and pleading as he eyes up the tea. Sighing, Colby splashes some milk into the mugs before coming over to join Sam. Perching on the arm of the chair, he passes Sam’s tea to him.

“ _Sam_ ,” he says, leaning in as Sam’s arm comes up to settle around his waist. “It’s not like I’m going to judge, bug.”

Head falling into Colby’s side, gently, Sam laughs. It’s soft, and he blushes again, pink across the bridge of his nose, before hiding his face in Colby’s pyjama top.

“Babe, you totally do. You do this thing with your face,” he says, pulling back to demonstrate, his nose crinkling and mouth turning down at the corners. “Like that. Like you’re disappointed.”

Snorting, Colby reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from Sam’s face with his free hand.

“I do not,” he says – and it’s weird, this feeling. He’s almost laughing, the sound of it caught in his chest, but his stomach feels heavy with something painful and unhappy. “You don’t disappoint me, Sam.”

Sitting back, Sam’s brow wrinkles as Colby’s voice cracks, mouth pinching in at the corners when he takes in Colby’s expression. Setting his tea down on the coffee table, he pulls Colby closer until he’s almost in Sam’s lap.

“Hey, hey,” he says quietly. “Colby. Bumblebee.” His hands come up to cup Colby’s face gently, thumb stroking across his cheek. “Did you go to class today?”

At Sam’s words, it’s like something breaks in Colby’s chest, snapping with a loud crack. A sob rises in his throat, painful and loud.

“Bumblebee,” Sam murmurs, pulling Colby tight against his side, legs still spread over the arm of the chair. “It’s okay.”

Shaking his head, mouth trembling, Colby rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I tried, Sam,” he sobs, voice cracking. “I tried. I tried so _hard_.”

With a soft noise, a click of his tongue, Sam pulls Colby tight against his side, pressing his nose into the space where Colby’s kidneys sit as he breathes.

“I know,” he says, muffled into the material of Colby’s shirt. “I know you did, love. You always do.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Colby whispers, salt clinging to his lips.

He can see a tear clinging to his lash, blurry and huge in his peripheral vision. He never used to cry like this. Blinking, he watches as it wobbles, heavy, and falls, splashing against the skin of his cheek.

“That’s okay,” Sam says, breath warm as it condenses against Colby’s side. “I love you, bumblebee. I just want you to be happy. You don’t _owe_ anyone anything. You don’t owe your lecturers anything and you don’t owe _me_ anything. Your mental health, right now, is the most important thing. Okay? I just want you to look after yourself.”

Nodding, Colby wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and leans into Sam. Sometimes the urge to talk about the gaping space inside him is overwhelming, but it’s not one of those times. His chest aches, eyes stinging, and he feels lost; feels anchored only by Sam’s hands, Sam’s warmth and right now he wants to remember what it tastes like to laugh.

“I know,” he says, and in this moment, he does. “Can we – let’s talk about something else.”

Standing, he moves around to Sam’s front until he can settle in between Sam’s legs, Sam’s knees pressed to his sides and the chair firm against his back. It’s warm, and he lets his head fall back, soft against Sam’s stomach. Humming, Sam runs gentle fingers through Colby’s hair, brushing it up and away from his face.

“Well,” Sam says, and his voice is soft and affectionate in the quiet. “Maybe we can talk about Tally cutting a hole in the ceiling of our living room.”

Sitting up, Colby twists until he can see Sam’s face, heart pounding hard in his chest. Hands braced against Sam’s thighs, he gapes.

“ _What_?” He asks, incredulous. “Sam, _what_?”

Snorting, Sam reaches out, brushing Colby’s hair away from his face with a gentle hand. His skin is warm, and Colby shivers as he tucks the shortest length behind Colby’s ear. Smiling, his palm travels until it rests, soft against Colby’s cheek, thumb rubbing at the skin there gently.

“Don’t worry bumblebee. She hasn’t actually done it yet. Apparently she wants to be able to get downstairs without actually _using_ the stairs.”

Sam laughs, tilting Colby’s head up and leaning forwards until he can drop a soft kiss to Colby’s forehead. Kissing Sam’s cheek in return, Colby turns back around, shuffling until he’s settled against Sam comfortably.

“That’s a terrible idea,” he says, a touch grumpily, but the warmth of Sam at his back is soothing – and it doesn’t take him long to doze off.

 

//

 

Colby’s jostled awake by Sam shifting beneath him, his voice a soft murmur as he talks to someone over Colby’s head. He’s been moved to Sam’s lap, his face pressed into the curve of Sam’s shoulder. There’s a blanket over the both of them, and Colby’s curled up in Sam’s embrace, the soft rumble of Sam’s voice vibrating soothingly across his skin as he floats in and out of sleep.

“Is he okay?” He hears, and it’s Holly’s voice, soft and concerned.

Snuffling slightly, he pushes his face tighter into Sam’s neck, the skin soft and comforting against his sleep-flushed cheeks. The smell of Sam surrounds him, and it tastes like family. Like safety and warmth.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, big hand running gently up and down Colby’s back. “He’s had a shit day, though, I think. Didn’t make it into uni, even.”

“Fuck,” Holly says, and it’s bitten off and unhappy. “I hate this,” she continues, frustration clear in her voice. “I hate that he’s so sad. I just want to magic him happy again.”

“I know,” Sam says, rough and broken. “I do too. I don’t know what to do, some days. I’ve known him since we were tiny, but I still don’t know how to help him. It hurts, here, in my chest, to watch him like this. The only thing we can do is be supportive and offer choices. Whether Colby takes us up on that is his decision.”

His voice softens as his hand comes up to card through Colby’s hair.

“My bumblebee,” he murmurs, and it sounds lost in his mouth.

Sighing softly, he drops a kiss to the back of Colby’s neck. Shivering at the warmth of Sam’s mouth, Colby blinks and sits up slowly. Sam’s face comes into focus, eyes huge as Colby adjusts, their faces so close together they’re almost sharing breath. There are the tiniest freckles dotted over the stretch of Sam’s nose, and Colby has loved that scatter for years. Knows Sam’s face better than his own. Pressed together, their bodies are warm and sleepy - and everything feels hazy; muffled and soft.

“Hi,” Sam murmurs, and it’s quiet as he looks down at Colby through his lashes. “How’re you feeling?”

Snorting, Colby presses his face back into Sam’s neck and sighs deeply, Sam’s hand rising and falling with him as it rests against his back.

“Terrible,” he whines, fingers scrunching in the material of Sam’s shirt. “But better than before. I forgot about my tea.”

Laughing quietly, chest rumbling, Sam presses a kiss to his forehead. Behind Colby, Holly sighs, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“I’ll put the kettle on then, shall I?” She asks, but it’s affectionate even as she reaches out to pinch Sam’s earlobe gently. “You lazy bastards.”

“Yeah,” Colby says, soft into the skin of Sam’s neck. “Sam’s lazier than me, though.”

Huffing, Sam cards his fingers gently through Colby’s hair, before tugging lightly on the ends.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. “You’re far lazier than I am, bee. I’ve seen your bedroom floor, you know. It’s like you’re using it as a wardrobe.”

“It’s a good wardrobe,” Colby murmurs sleepily, pressing in closer to Sam, the heat of him softening something painful inside Colby’s chest. “Don’t have to search hard to find things. I did stand on my sunglasses the other day though. It’s not like I need them, though, in this weather.”

“That’s true,” Sam says, laughing. “C’mon lazy, we should get up. I’m starving.”

Pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders, Colby grumbles quietly, but acquiesces. Standing, he leans down to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek, before shuffling towards the kettle. At the counter, Holly’s pouring tea into three mugs, hair windblown and soft as it sits against her shoulders. Smiling, Colby reaches round, hands gentle against her sides, and wraps her in the blanket too. Laughing, she lets him rest his chin on her shoulder, shaking her head as she tries to pour the milk with a blanket-warm Colby attached.

“Sam made me get up,” he whines, mouth dipping down to rest against the soft wool of her jumper. “It was all warm. He’s really mean to me.”

“I am _not_ ,” Sam says, making them both jump as he appears beside them. “I’m wise and kind.”

Snorting, Holly pushes a mug towards Sam, cradling her own in her free hand. Blowing softly across the rim of her mug, she leans back into Colby. Tightening his hands, he tugs her into a proper hug, the blanket slipping off his shoulders.

“You’re _mean_ ,” Colby reiterates, sticking his tongue out at Sam. “Holly’s my favourite.”

“Such a betrayal,” Sam gasps, putting his tea down and clasping at his chest. “Just for that, you can come running with me tomorrow. It’ll do you some good to get out of the house, bee. How about it Hols?”

“No thanks,” she says stepping away from Colby to grab an apple. “I’m on campus all day tomorrow. Tally’s got yoga and I’ve got a theatre thing, so we won’t be back until super late. Plus running sucks.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sam says, crowding up behind Colby and slipping his hands round his sides until they rest, warm, against his belly. “Snow and exercise. The perfect combination.”

Chin resting on Colby’s shoulder, he sticks his tongue out at Holly, who rolls her eyes and flips him off. Laughing softly, breath sifting through the soft hairs at the base of Colby’s neck, Sam hugs him close. Reaching out for his tea, Colby blows across the surface as he meets Holly’s eyes – and they’re assessing, her mouth pinched at the corners as her gaze flicks down to where Sam’s hands are resting on his stomach. Flushing, belly churning, Colby ducks his head and takes a sip of his tea.

He knows his relationship with Sam is a source of consternation for his flatmates, and Colby gets that. He’s not sure _he_ understands the dynamic between them, most days. It’s just –

Some days, Sam is the only one who knows how to make him smile.

 

//

 

The front door slams loudly as the clock ticks past six, and Tally’s voice floats in from the hall.

“We need a fucking shoe stand, guys,” she yells as the sound of her boots hitting the wall echoes through the kitchen. “Also, Holly, your umbrella is a death trap,” she continues, brushing into the room with a sniff.

Shaking her hair out, the ends damp, she smiles. Her skin is flushed from the cold, cheeks pink and nose red as she grins. Coming up to Colby, she wraps him up in a hug, the cold still clinging to her skin, and Colby shivers. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she pulls away, hand coming up to cup his chin. Turning his face this way and that, she traces the planes of his face with a concerned expression.

“Holly texted me. You should tell us, next time, sweetie, if you feel crap. I would have come up and given you a cup of tea before I left this morning.”

Cheeks warm, Colby makes a noise of embarrassed agreement. Humming suspiciously, she narrows her eyes, but steps back and nods firmly. Smiling at Holly, she puts her bag on the kitchen table and draws her into a hug too.

“How’d the stats shit go?” She asks, tugging at the ends of Holly’s hair affectionately. “Anyone turn up who actually knew what they were doing?”

“Ha,” Holly snorts, squeezing Tally once before letting go. “Of course not. We were supposed to be doing something with Excel, but the guy who was taking the class appeared not to have ever used it before. I ended up leaving early.”

“Such crap,” Tally huffs, patting Holly’s hip gently, before turning to glare at Sam. “Evening dick-face,” she continues, mouth pinching in at the corners. “Nick was here yesterday.”

“I know,” Sam says, ducking behind Colby. “I just – got caught up in some stuff. I texted him!”

Snorting, Tally scowls, crossing her arms.

“You’re a dick,” she says. “I don’t even know why we’re friends. You can’t keep treating Nick like this. I love you, Sam, I do. You’re one of my best friends, but I’m serious, okay. You need to stop doing this.” Gaze flickering to Colby and back again, she sighs. “You need to make a _decision_ and stop fucking people around. There’s only so many times I can let this happen before the desire to punch you in the face gets to be too much. Don’t forget that Nick’s my friend too, and right now I like him more than you. He hasn’t been a fucking shit recently, unlike some other people,” she says pointedly. “Not naming names or anything, Samuel.”

Breathing out, loud and long, she shakes her head and steps back.

“Okay, bad-cop routine over for now. We can have dinner and maybe I’ll like you more by then.”

Reaching out, she tugs gently at Colby’s wrist, skin still cold, and propels him towards the fridge.

“C’mon then, Chef Colby. What are we cooking tonight? It’s our turn, right?”

Nodding, Colby leans against her as they stand in front of the fridge, the last vestiges of sleep still clinging to him. Sighing, she wraps an arm around his waist and kisses his cheek.

“You know I’m not angry with you, hmm?” She asks, quiet against his ear. “Not half as much as I am with Sam, anyway.”

Smiling, Colby nods again and squeezes her hand as it sits, gentle, against his hip. Face brightening, Tally smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, before opening the fridge and snorting.

“It looks like, um, butternut squash or butternut squash. What do you think they’d prefer?”

Laughing, voice grumbly with sleep, Colby shakes his head.

“Sam hates butternut squash. Ever since he was a kid and he had a stomach bug. He puked it up and now he can’t stand the taste of it.”

Tally snorts.                                 

“Well, he’s gonna like _my_ version of it, cos. Roasting. None of this boiling shit.”

“I like your butternut squash,” Holly says, making them both jump as she comes up behind them. “And I know for a fact that Sam has eaten it before and liked it, because he had no idea what it was. Didn’t you tell him it was pumpkin?”

“Ha,” Tally snickers, pulling the squash from the fridge. “I forgot about that. Samuel, you’re chopping this because my wrists won’t take it. Small chunks, okay, so they don’t take too long to roast. Colbs, you’re on potatoes and I’ll do the veggies and other shit.”

Directing everyone, Tally coaxes them through the cooking process until the kitchen is warm, the oven glowing as it heats the food through. Sitting down at the kitchen table with a huff of relief, Tally grins.

“Twenty minutes, and we’re ready to eat. You wanna eat in here, or in front of the telly?”

“Let’s eat in here,” Sam says, water running hot as he washes his hands. “More room, and no one will drop anything on the beige carpet.”

Holly makes a noise of agreement, coming up behind Tally to lean against her chair, chin resting on the top of her head. Drying his hands on a tea-towel, Sam pulls Colby close, arm sliding around Colby’s waist and thumb slipping under his shirt to rub circles across his hip. Sighing, Colby lets his head fall against Sam’s shoulder, burying his face in Sam’s neck and letting his eyes fall shut for a second. His body feels heavy, sleep clouding in at the corners, the warmth of Sam combined with the kitchen making the air as cosy as a bed.

Across the room, Tally clears her throat and Colby’s eyes flutter open to meet her pointed expression.

“Boys,” she says with a sigh. “Promise me you’re going to talk about this.”

Her eyes trace the line of their bodies, lingering on Sam’s hand as it rests on Colby’s hip. Flushing, Colby buries himself deeper into Sam’s side. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about whatever is going on between them, but he knows they probably have to, at least in part for Nick’s sake.

Sighing softly, Sam shifts him until he’s cradling Colby’s cheek, eyes serious as they meet Colby’s own. Pressed almost chest to chest, he kisses Colby’s cheek, mouth warm against his skin, Shivering, Colby rests his forehead against Sam’s, mouth quivering at the corners.

“Colby,” Sam says, and it’s quiet in the room.

At the table, Tally starts talking loudly to Holly about pumpkin, in an effort to afford them some privacy. Breathing out, Colby’s eyes flutter shut, lashes soft against his cheeks. He’s not sure he wants to hear whatever this is. It’s _Sam_ , and they’ve only ever loved each other like this. He doesn’t want to ruin anything.

“Whatever happens, bee, it’s going to be okay,” Sam murmurs, thumb brushing gently across Colby’s cheek. “I’m pretty sure both of us know what this is and what it isn’t. I’ll come and find you later, okay? Once they’re in bed. And then we can talk about this. She's right, you know. This has been a long time coming.”

Eyes fluttering shut, Colby’s hand comes to rest against Sam’s chest, the thud of his heartbeat reassuring beneath his palm. He’s warm and soft and Colby doesn’t want to leave the safety of his arms. Breath catching in his throat, he hums softly. He knows –

He knows it’s true. They both know, really, that this isn’t anything that could ever work. It hurts, though. Colby loves Sam with his whole heart, but it’s not the kind of love that could ever sustain the kind of relationship either of them would want. That they do want.

“Okay,” he says, proud of the way his voice doesn’t break. “Okay.”

 

//

 

Dinner is a raucous affair, once it’s actually on the table. Colby’s eyes feel heavy with warmth, the kitchen filled with laughter and heat, skin tingling as he leans into Sam’s side. His cheeks feel flushed with ardour and alcohol, the beer that Holly had produced lighting a soft buzz under his ribs. Smiling, eyes crinkling, he pokes dubiously at the last little bit of squash on his plate. The edge of it is slightly burnt and he doesn’t really want it.

“You okay?” Sam asks, propping Colby up more comfortably against his side.

“Yeah, just sleepy,” he says, heart beating fast against his ribs.

Kicking gently at Colby’s ankle under the table, Tally smiles and sticks out her tongue.

“Are we up for a game, or are you going to bed, honey?”

“Bed. Definitely bed,” Colby says, rubbing at his eyes, the corners of them itching dryly.

His skin feels prickly with sleep, and the warmth of the room is only making him drowsier. Snuffling quietly, he cuddles closer to Sam and groans quietly.

“Why is my bed so _far_ away, Sammy? You’ll carry me there, right?” He whines, pushing his face into Sam’s neck.

“I don’t think so,” Sam laughs, pushing at Colby gently. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get there on your own. Holly, if I wash do you want to dry? Ugh, washing up duty is the _worst_. You’re lucky you’re allowed to escape to bed, Colbs.”

“Not lucky,” he moans, tugging gently at the hem of Sam’s shirt. “You should come to bed _with_ me.” Pressing a sloppy kiss to Sam’s cheek, head fuzzy with sleep and drink, he pouts. “You’re gonna come up, though? Later? So we can talk?”

Nodding, Sam ruffles Colby’s hair and pulls him out of his chair.

“Yeah, bee. I’ll be there soon.”

Smiling and wobbling slightly on his feet, Colby waves at the three of them, before making his way towards the stairs.

 

//

 

He’s woken a few hours later by Sam opening his bedroom door gently, the light from the hallway shining in from behind him. Whining softly as the light hits his eyes, Colby watches as Sam shuts the door behind himself. Blinking sleepily, limbs heavy, he lifts the covers. Huffing as the air hits him, cold against his skin, he beckons Sam over. With a soft sigh, Sam shuffles into the room properly, crawling, warm and minty, into Colby’s bed, the mattress shaking as he settles in.

Rolling onto his side, Colby reaches out and pulls Sam closer, twining his fingers with Sam’s. Breathing out shakily, he presses his face into the cold of Sam’s collar bone, belly churning as Sam slides his free hand up underneath Colby’s shirt. His hand is cool and Colby shivers, skin erupting in goose pimples.

Mouth dry, Colby presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of Sam’s neck. His words feels stuck in his throat, and he doesn’t –

He doesn’t want to have this conversation at all. The bed is warm, their bodies pressed together, and Colby wants this moment to stretch forever. Wants it to stretch and stretch and stretch until he can stop thinking about this.

Moving closer, Colby mouths gently at the skin down the column of Sam’s neck, until he sighs and pushes Colby away softly.

“Colby,” he says, and Colby meets his eyes with a flicker, before ducking his head again.

He knows, is the thing, and it’s true that they should really have had this conversation years ago. He knows he’s not being fair. Sam’s hand slips out from his shirt, coming up to cradle his face, tilting Colby’s chin up until their eyes meet in the dark.

“I love you,” he whispers, and Colby can feel the warmth gust of Sam’s breath against his skin. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen.”

Colby’s heart is beating fast, palms clammy, and he blinks once. Opposite him, Sam’s lashes brush his cheeks, his expression resigned – and Colby knows that right here, in this second, he’s breaking Sam’s heart. Knows that he’s been breaking Sam’s heart for years, and by keeping him here, tethered to Colby, he’s only going to hurt him more.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, because he _does_.

“Not the same way,” Sam says, and it’s not a question.

It’s not a question, because they’ve both known for years. Colby loves Sam forever and for always, but that doesn’t change the fact that the things that Sam wants and the things that Colby wants don’t match up. Colby remembers the first time they’d touched with something extra, an extra meaning behind each hand, and it had been nice, but –

He’d known in that instant, that it had meant something different to Sam, and Colby can only call himself cruel for allowing Sam to even hope for a second. To keep him close and hurt him like this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his voice cracks, something wet welling at the corner of his eye. “Sammy, I’m so sorry. I should have said something when we – I’m so sorry.”

Sam hums softly, brushing at their mingled tears, his own dripping from his nose, and laughs wetly. Pulling Colby closer, he rocks him gently.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and Colby can’t help the sob that breaks free, broken and hurt. “It’s okay. I’ve known for a very long time. I chose to stay.”

“It wasn’t _fair_ ,” Colby moans, voice muffled into Sam’s chest. “I haven’t been fair to you.”      

Humming, Sam lets out a broken chuckle, breath hitching. Colby can almost hear the sobs catching in his chest.

“I don’t think either of us have treated the other very well,” Sam says, carding his fingers through Colby’s hair. “It’s not like I let you get on with dating other people either.”

Sniffing, Colby shoves closer, legs twining with Sam’s and fingers clenching in the material of Sam’s shirt.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, desperately. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Tugging Colby up until they’re lying, face to face against the pillows, legs twined and hands touching, Sam smiles softly.

“I love you too, bumblebee. I’m not going to stop loving you after this, love. I will _always_ love you. I just need to relearn how to love you like a _friend_. We’ve – somehow we’ve got all our wires muddled and crossed, and I don’t think that either of us have realised how much we’ve given to each other. You love me, too, bee. I know that. I think we both need some time to fall into a friendship, rather than this mess we’ve got right now. Because we’re messy, bee. Messy and complicated and painful.”

Colby watches Sam’s mouth move, his lips curving up at the corners as he brushes Colby’s hair out of his eyes – and there’s only sincerity there. Something sad sitting around the eyes, too, but sincerity and love. Sam is Colby’s _family_ , and Colby will always choose to love him _right_.

“Yeah,” he whispers, hands coming up to trace the curve of Sam’s brow, fingers soft against the short hairs. “Sammy,” he says, and there’s –

The air seems to slow, warm, until Sam’s mouth finds Colby’s, soft and sweet. It’s a goodbye, perhaps. Not forever, but a farewell to the mess of a relationship they’ve had since they were teenagers, and Colby wants to make this goodbye good. Wants it to _mean_ something. He just –

He wants Sam to know how much Colby loves him and how much he’ll continue to love him. Mouth gentle against Sam’s, his hands come up to tangle in Sam’s hair. Pressing closer, his mouth opens as Sam’s tongue slides past his lips, and this kiss –

It feels slow, like syrup, and Colby will savour it for years.

Pulling back, mouth bruised pink, Sam looks at Colby for minutes, gaze flickering across his face. Heart beating fast, Colby flushes, skin tight over his bones. Dropping a kiss to Colby’s forehead, Sam pulls him tight against his chest and sighs. They’re breathing slowly, now, and Sam –

Sam’s crying, hitching little breaths so loud in the room, but it feels –

There’s something cathartic about this. About the final revelation of everything that they are, and Colby thinks that maybe they can be happy. Drowsily, he wipes at the salt tracks across Sam’s cheeks and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Humming softly, he turns until his back is pressed to Sam’s front, and he’s being cradled from behind.

“I love you, Sammy,” he says, and Sam chokes, face pressed to the back of Colby’s neck, wet and warm.

“I love you too, Colbster,” he replies, hands soft as they curl around Colby’s hip. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you bright and early for a run tomorrow.”

“You’ll stay, though?” Colby asks, voice breaking over the question. “Just for tonight.”

Sam lets out a loud breath, fingers tightening for a second, before he nods, hair brushing Colby’s bare skin.

“I’ll stay for tonight.”

Colby slips into sleep like that, eyes drooping shut and Sam lies, soft and warm around him - and Colby knows that this is the last time. The last time they lie like this, and maybe –

Maybe that’s a good thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and find me on Tumblr either [here](http://zedwritesfiction.tumblr.com) or [here](http://teamfreeawesome.tumblr.com) for updates on fic.


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